Harry Potter and the Tomb of Darkness
by Room of Requirement
Summary: The end of a year and the Trio gets an unexpected surprise .....


The Room of Requirement

Written by: _Qwerty Awakening_ (meltedcheese221)

**Harry Potter and the Tomb of Darkness **

**Chapter 0ne**

Harry stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror of his room in Gryffindor Tower. It stared back at him, silent for once. Turning first to his left, then to his right, he straightened his robes. The hem wasn't entirely even, but that was due to the fact he had shot up four inches since last wearing his dress robes. He winced in remembrance of the most recent Yule Ball yet another in which the infamous Harry Potter was a wallflower.

_But no more_, he grinned cheerfully. _No more Yule Balls_.

All in all, he thought them better than a Christmas with the Dursleys. Then again, nearly anything but an encounter with Voldemort was better than spending time with the aunt and uncle who raised him and their son his cousin Dudley. All of them alternated their contempt for him with outright ignoring him. That is, when he wasn't made to act as their slave in an effort to exorcise magic out of him.

With a slight shake of his head as if to erase the unpleasant memories, Harry stood straight in front of the mirror again. He saw nothing remarkable in his appearance save the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, one he usually kept hidden with his hair.

The Boy Who Lived saw himself no longer a boy but not yet fully a man. In experience, he felt he was nearly as old as Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts brilliant headmaster. Having faced the most evil Dark wizard of all, or his henchmen, in each of his previous six years at Hogwarts had aged him, no matter how youthful his seventeen-year-old exterior was.

But only the scar a remnant from Voldemorts attempt to kill him as a baby after murdering his parents reflected his encounters. The rest of the world saw a handsome, poised teenager, black hair unruly, emerald eyes bright. With his surprising growth spurt since Christmas, he now stood six feet tall and was lanky with it, as if the rest of his body hadn't caught up yet. _Nothing remarkable_, he thought.

The door burst open with a bang.

"Harry!" yelled Ron Weasley. Ron had been one of his best friends since their meeting on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of their first year. His Weasley-red hair was nearly as unruly as Harry's, indicating Ron had been running his fingers through it.

"What?" Harry asked, facing Ron.

Pausing a moment to catch his breath, Ron gasped, "Were going to be late." And, sure enough, a quick glance at the clock confirmed there were only five minutes before the feast was to start.

With a last glance at the mirror, Harry asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

The wizards mirror, which had been silent to this point, replied, "You were nervous."

_After seven years, _now_ the dang mirror develops a conscience_, Harry thought, racing out the dormitory door behind Ron.

The two of them made it to their seats in the Great Hall next to Hermione Granger, their mutual best friend. They slammed themselves into their seats, breathing heavily, trying to ignore Hermione's glare.

"Where _have_ you two been?" she hissed, just as Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood to begin the end of year feast.

Ron leaned over and brushed her lips with his, whispering, "Hush, Hermione. Harry couldn't tear himself away from the mirror." When Harry smacked the back of his head, he just grinned.

At Hermione's questioning glance, Harry spat, "I overslept."

He nearly groaned when her eyes filled with worry. He hadn't been sleeping well for months, his nights interrupted either by nightmares or pain screaming through his scar, sometimes both. The unwanted connection to Voldemort tended to burn when the Dark Lord was feeling especially venomous or was nearby. A nap before the feast had seemed like the best thing, considering the party afterward would last until the wee hours, but the two hours he'd allotted himself had turned into five, making him late.

The clinking of silverware on glass drew their attention to the head table.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and began, "Welcome all of you. Today we celebrate the completion of school for another group of young wizards and witches."

His gaze scanned the Hall, stopping briefly on various students before resting upon Harry, Hermione and Ron.

"Unfortunately, in times such as these, none have been able to stay young. Most of those receiving full credentials today have seen more, done more, than some of the adults in this room. It was that way during Voldemorts first reign, and it has become that way again." There were a few gasps at Dumbledore's use of Voldemorts name, rather than calling him You-Know-Who, Harry noticed. Since fifth year, Dumbledore had openly refused to use the silly moniker, as he termed it, thereby denying Voldemort even that small amount of control and fear. He had always used Voldemort in private, but usually respected the wishes of those who feared the name.

Harry looked over at Ron. No longer was he the boy who had so hesitantly asked to share his compartment on the Hogwarts Express that September day nearly seven years ago. He had shot up to six-feet-four and, while still thin, had a solid torso from lifting weights. While they both had been on the Quidditch team since fifth year he as Seeker since his first year, Ron as Keeper the sport had made Ron solid while giving Harry a muscular, but deceptively thin frame. Harry had always been small and skinny, more from starvation at the hands of the Dursleys than anything else, but it was now all muscle from both Quidditch and running, which he had taken up in the spring of fifth year.

As vivid red as the Weasley hair was, the streak of ice-white hair at Ron's left temple was a shocking reminder of their most recent battle with Voldemort, and was nearly as distinctive as Harry's scar. Harry closed his eyes against the memories of that day, hearing Dumbledore's words of the past and the future wash over him. Knowing his friend had come that close to the Killing Curse for him was still hard to think about.

"Some of you will choose paths that will take you into danger, some into peace. But none will be easy, none will be untouched." Dumbledore raised his goblet. "Let us toast these young men and women who bravely go into the world this day."

A small cheer went up from the students as they gleefully toasted themselves.

Setting his goblet back on the table, Dumbledore then continued, "And let us have a moment of silence for those from the past who never made it to this day and, unfortunately, those who will not live for their own leaving ceremony." The cheering abruptly stopped.

While Harry's first thoughts always went to Cedric Diggory when dead students were discussed, most in the Great Hall thought of the previous spring and stared at the empty space where Dean Thomas should have been. Cedric was what Harry thought of as the first casualty in this war; Dean was only the most recent. The experiences of both deaths were just a few of the nightmares that had particularly disrupted his sleep the past few months.

"And with that, I now give you Hogwarts Class of 1998." Dumbledore concluded, raising his goblet and drinking deeply. Applause sounded throughout the Hall.

Before he could prepare himself, Harry was surrounded in a sea of arms as practically everyone he knew hugged each other. Even after years of receiving hugs from the multitude of Weasleys, he had never gotten used to the easy affection.

After exuberant congratulations from Colin Creevey, the sixth-year student photographer who had dogged Harry throughout his school years like either a faithful puppy or pesky annoyance depending upon Harry's mood, Harry scanned the Hall. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but the dull ache centered in his scar told him something was coming. As if at the end of a tunnel, Harry heard someone congratulate him at a distance, accompanied by a thump on the back.

Then he saw it. A small rat not five feet in front of him, between Hermione and Ron. A small rat with a silver paw. Pain shot through his head like glass shards in his brain.

Involuntarily, his hand shot to his forehead and pressed against the scar in a useless effort to stem the throbbing.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, studying him carefully.

Before Harry could reply, the Animagus rat transformed.

Hermione screamed and Ron jumped back.

"Wormtail!" Ron spat once he recovered himself and pulled his wand.

Harry reached over and held Rons arm, whispering, Wait.

Peter Pettigrew, currently known as Wormtail and one of Voldemorts closest lackeys, had been close friends of Harry's parents until he betrayed them in an act that led to their murders when Harry was only fifteen months old. He then faked his own death, framing another of their friends Harry's godfather Sirius Black, and lived for twelve years as the Weasley family rat named Scabbers. Sirius had spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit until escaping four years earlier. The general belief was that the only way to clear his name was to present Peter Pettigrew, alive, to the Ministry of Magic and demand a pardon.

That was the only thing keeping Wormtail alive at the moment, in Harry's opinion.

Wormtail, his beady eyes full of fear, shivered under Harry, Hermione and Ron's scrutiny. "I have something for you," he began, his voice shaking nearly as much as he was.

"We don't want it" Ron scowled, his voice rising in volume. Ignoring Ron, Wormtail reached into his robes. Hermione and Harry both drew their wands on him.

"It's an envelope." Trembling, Wormtail pulled a parchment envelope, its edges crisp and pristine, from his robes and handed it to Harry. "That should do it."

Before anyone could ask what he meant, he pulled his wand and held it to his temple. Giving Harry a long look, he whispered, _Avada Kedavra_, and then crumpled to the floor, dead.

Harry fell to his knees, the pain now blinding in its intensity. He tried to ignore the high, mocking laugh that seemed to pulse through his scar and echo in his head. He felt arms around his shoulders and a female voice, then nothing as he surrendered to the pain.


End file.
